Explore "The Partridge" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
AS beats the sun from mountain crest, / With "Pretty, pretty," / Cometh the partridge from her nest.
The flowers threw kisses sweet to her / (For all the flowers that bloomed knew her); / Yet hasteneth she to mine and me, -- / Ah, pretty, pretty! / Ah, dear little partridge!